


The Spell Of The Music Box

by J_E_McCormick



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-17
Updated: 2015-02-17
Packaged: 2018-03-13 11:08:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3379292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_E_McCormick/pseuds/J_E_McCormick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The tune of the music box lulls you to a place somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. You like the music box – it plays one of the songs your mother sings to you, to help you sleep. </p><p>"My grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf<br/>So it stood ninety years on the floor…"</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Spell Of The Music Box

**Author's Note:**

> Aaannnd here's another story that requires more explanation than there is story. I'm not very good at writing stories that include the lore/theories I'm basing them on xD
> 
> Right, so:  
> -The Puppet/Marionette is haunted by the first child killed at Fredbear's Pizzeria (shown in the Give Them Cake minigame)  
> -The story is set sometime in the course of FNAF2 - whenever the Puppet starts becoming more active and harder to keep an eye on.  
> -The purple man who killed that child was possibly an off-duty guard (with the idea that Freddy Fazbear's guard uniforms are purple)  
> -Vaguely hinted at a little theory of mine; that the Missing Children Incident is actually happening at the time of FNAF2, this being why the old animatronics start becoming active. This also rouses the spirit in the Puppet, hence why it needs to be subdued with the music box.

The tune of the music box lulls you to a place somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. You like the music box – it plays one of the songs your mother sings to you, to help you sleep. As the music plays you can almost hear her voice singing to you, although she’s not in the room with you.

_My grandfather’s clock was too large for the shelf  
So it stood ninety years on the floor…_

You love it when your mother sings. She as a light, soothing voice, which always makes you feel calm and safe. She sings you to sleep; sings when you go to her, crying because you skinned your knee; sometimes she just sings, and you like to sit and listen to her.

_It was taller by half than the old man himself  
Though it weighed not a pennyweight more…_

The music box keeps on playing and you keep on smiling, thinking of your mother. You think of the kindness always shining in her eyes, the gentle smile you always love to see, the soft touch of her hand in your hair.

_It was bought on the morn… of the day he was born  
And was always… his treasure and pride…_

The tune starts to slow and you shift a little. You hope it keeps playing. Maybe your mother will come in and wind it again, and kiss the top of your head as she tip-toes back out. You like it when she does that. You always pretend that you’re asleep but you think she knows.

_But it stopped… short… never to… go again…  
When the old… man… died…_

Silence.

You lie very still, waiting to see if it will start again, if your mother will come and wind the music box up.

Silence.

It drags on and you open your eyes. You are not in your bedroom. It is very dark wherever you are, and there is no bed.

 _Silence_.

You hate silence. You hate it, hate it. It’s why you used to make the animatronics sing for you – why you sparked life into the music box – why you hate the night.

Silence reminds you of where you are. Trapped in a pizzeria, never able to go home, abandoned as soon as the sun sets. Lonely, in your little cloth body that holds no warmth and has no pulse. No life.

Silence reminds you that your mother isn’t here and that you haven’t seen her in years. You can’t, because the man in purple hurt you, hurt you so bad that you couldn’t go home, ever.

You always wanted to go home so bad. You used to cry, all night, because you wanted to go home and you wanted your mother to sing you to sleep again. But you can’t, because of the man in purple. You hate him. You hate the purple man, you want to hurt him back, want him to feel bad and hurt and scared just like you did.

The silence also reminds you that you have broken out of a spell – that the music box plays only to subdue you, to lull you to your sleep and memories so that _he_ can do his dirty work without you interfering. But he’s fallen slack; forgot about you maybe, with too many other things on his mind.

He’s made a mistake – and a big one.

You peek out of your box; you look up. There’s a camera, the light on and flashing, moving backwards and forwards.

He’s back - you’re not sure he ever left, but he’s definitely back now. He’s watching you. You’ve seen him before; he wears the purple guard uniform, slinks back to his office – erases the footage that shows what he’s done. You know he must there now, and there’s a rage, an unrestrained hatred, and only one train of thought in your mind.

_Get him. Stop him. Hurt him. Kill him._

_Kill him._

_Kill him._

**_Kill him._ **

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback and comments, as always, really appreciated!!


End file.
